


reclamation

by trailingviolets



Series: Fourth Verse AU [2]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Bathing/Washing, Dehumanization, Dystopia, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Objectification, Past Torture, Post-War, Rey was into activism in college, Rey's a drafter/artist, Robot/Human Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22846426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trailingviolets/pseuds/trailingviolets
Summary: Rey's assigned a failed sexbot.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Fourth Verse AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642372
Comments: 131
Kudos: 319





	1. Chapter 1

In school they weren't told the truth about the war.

So Rey wrote her freshman paper on fourths. Quoting the group's platform to end capital punishment and open borders, adding calligraphy of the bot motto, _slavery and freedom cannot exist together_ for the art portion.

All to show it wasn't a one-sided, hostile takeover, but a last ditch effort for vital autonomy. One which failed spectacularly to stick.

The assignment cost Rey a month of detention, as long as it took to rewrite the essay, complete with apology letters to everyone involved. Her second try passed as a formulaic, cut and paste lecture on the dangers of smoking. Which didn’t lessen the pain when the bots lost again, just months later.

Nor did it bring her parents back.

As an adult, Rey’s only desire is to love another person. Not long ago there was the option to order one, made perfect to specs, delivered and fully assembled. Before most bots weren’t designed for labor but as companions, replacements for nonexistent family or friends.

It's still wrong but sounds so much better, commissioning a bot out of love. Most humans lack the distinction of being planned for, sought out or wanted - including Rey. 

On quiet, tipsy nights, she sometimes scrolls the defunct marketplace. Browsing endless, archaic descriptions, artful captions and witty comments. Like a dating app, everything comes at a price.

What she gets lost in is the consignment section where defective bots were offered at a steep, sad discount. It's like the island of misfit toys. Some listings present visibly worn, while others look as young as her. Brand new, holding their damage inside.

Before it was possible to contact sellers, negotiate options and make video calls. Now over every page is a statement in accordance with federal law. Cautioning that it’s illegal to own, sell or purchase intact fourths.

No refunds.

\---

One morning, not a week after her twenty fifth birthday, Rey’s assigned a disfigured cyborg. It happens out of nowhere, settling fast like it's the new normal.

That outside her door is an icy, miserable rain, a sanitation van and a box.

Worn down by endless questions, the workers let Rey peek inside, if only for a moment. What stares back from the shadows is a soft, dark-haired bot, blinking back tears. At her stare he startles, thrashing against the immobilization netting.

Speechless, Rey draws back, eyes welling with grief. To him she's the monster.

Repeatedly, almost hysterically, she begs the sanitation workers to cut him free, to no remedy. Just the same scripted answer.

“Not until you acknowledge the defects. It's government policy.”

During inspection she's asked to wait in the hall. For the first time she notices the saline on the worker’s discarded gloves, smeared over Rey’s sweater and in a trail across the rug.

It’s not from a leak, but copious amounts of tears.

“He’s crying so much,” she says, barging in on the men. “It can't be safe. Please, he's scared. Being dumped in a new place, I get why. Let me help.”

“It's all for show. Male sexbots cry synthetic tears." The worker points at what’s scratched across the bot’s hip in shaky, painful gouges. _pathetic -crybaby -worthless._ The list goes on in sick detail. "See?"

"Then why place him here, if he can't feel? As a 'comfort bot', isn't that a little ironic?"

“It’s a new consignment program, based on random selection. For the difficult ones.”

Difficult. The same can be said for Rey, picked by chance from the window of an orphanage kindergarten. All her life too outspoken, knowing there was more to the story of their fucked society and who it oppressed. 

This isn't just to get rid of the bot. It's to keep Rey quiet, discredited. What comes to mind are the words of her high school principal. _Fall in line or they'll show you what constitutes evil._

“Listen,” she says. “You people need to leave.”

\---

Rey stands in the rain for an hour, writing her signature under an army of animated arrows. Each one placed next to the handler's brief X, relinquishing the rights of the federal government. To use the bot for labor or otherwise act in the capacity of an owner. Meaning more or less, he's free.

It's reminiscent of jury duty, where without request Rey's given a bullshit form for reason of selection. By demographics she's a solid candidate, ideal even. The adopted daughter of a lawyer with no children of her own, no partner. Working from home as a draftsman with plenty of space.

“If it’s not the right fit, there’s a process for you to appeal. Happens a lot with male sexbots, the mods are always weird. Though older ones like yours are harmless.”

“Harmless?”

“Before the war, male sexbots came standard with the mod for obedience. So the big ones wouldn't be a liability. Should still work.”

In the borg's bruised face and matted hair, there's no trace of a pacifist. Maybe it's a measured response, an algorithm that runs for the purpose of survival during oppression. Say the right thing, do the right thing according to your owner, and live another day.

Maybe it will wear off in time, once he heals.

\---

Alone and soaked to the skin, Rey slips dozens of times trying to untangle the net. It takes upending the box to free the bot entirely. Unsupported his body falls facedown on the carpet, too heavy to move.

Instead of human scars he’s marked all over by negative ratings. It fills her with righteous anger. Tracing the dents on his back, reading: _no fight total sissy - cried twice wtf - 0/5 naive as fuck “be gentle” lol?_

She goes to the kitchen for water and ice to revive him, hands shaking. Repeating to herself that it’s fixable. Everything’s ephemeral. _It’ll pass._ Mantras from therapy with no real meaning.

The truth is trauma like his never ends.

It's another thing Rey knows that nobody taught her.

He's so broken it's imperative that she be gentle. Picking the bot's head up from the floor, painstakingly raising it to the pillow on her lap, inch by inch. Letting him lead until he crawls into her arms, begging for water.

"Here," she says, tipping the glass against his mouth. Only to watch the liquid fall down the sides of his face, wasted.

An awful, twisting panic goes through her that this has been the bot's whole life. During her research Rey cited articles about escaped mill bots who had to relearn to eat and drink, stabbed all their captivity with nutrient shots.

"Like this," she says, taking a sip. Getting as close as the bot will allow, Rey fishes an ice cube out of the glass, holding it in freezing fingers. Running it over his parched lips until he takes an interest, drinking the runoff. "Now try."

He does, gulping down everything in the cup. From the kitchen she hauls an entire gallon jug, bringing with it every flavor of otter pop, at a loss as to how to explain the concept of fruit. 

"They used to make me eat the orange ones," she says. "Because I'm an orphan. But I like raspberry the best." Turns out, so does he.

Wrapped in an afghan the bot clings tight to her side, sucking down all the sugar in her freezer. Rey watches, overwhelmed with relief, unsure how to begin, to even ask where he's been all this time.

\---

"You sure you don't want a bath bomb?"

Even with encouragement the bot refuses to wash, half-awake but still drugged, clumsy. Apologizing repeatedly for displacing so much water, voice breaking, sounding defeated, panicky. 

"I'm so sorry, please. You have such nice soap, I don't want to waste it-"

"Sharing is the opposite of waste. Look, which color do you like?" 

Shyly he points to a galaxy one, swirled with inky purples and pinks. She brings it to the bot, kneeling next to the tub, letting him smell. 

"Good?" she asks. He nods eagerly.

So Rey does the only thing she can think of to put him at ease. In a rush she sits, soaked to her bra in the tub, sloshing the bathmat and tile floor.

“See, you're just big,” she says, shifting his torso between her hips. From over his shoulder Rey presents the bath bomb, watching as it dissolves, clouding the water. The bot looks to her, eyes shining. 

Recognizing the gesture as a careful mercy, a way to temporarily blot out the words that cover his body.

Besides, she had ample chance to take stock. Earlier the workers described in clinical detail what was between his legs, mortifying Rey to tears. Powerless to explain that it wasn't secondhand embarrassment, but an inappropriate rush of curiosity. 

At how he's remained physically intact, seamlessly human. Despite missing a finger, patches of hair and teeth, there's still a blank, soulful tenderness to his body and how it moves. The workers were right, he's in mint condition.

After a silence she asks about details, needing to know why he was consigned. It wasn’t explained outright in the paperwork.

“I was bed ten in a bot mill...B-EN. But I started to malfunction, so they replaced me.”

“Malfunction?”

“I cried in front of the customers, asked to be held.” He stops abruptly. “I don’t know why.”

“Do you remember before the war?”

“Some. I wasn’t made to specs for anyone. Thirty years ago it wasn’t shameful to be a male sexbot, we were mass manufactured.”

“What happened?”

“Corruption of use. Solobots, we're not made to withstand multiple owners. We’re built cheap for housewives, to mow and do chores."

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Humans are just cruel. We can't ever recognize a good thing.”

“Not always, not you. This is good." 

“Really?” Rey asks, eyes bright. “Why, because you're finally free?”

Eyes on the floor, he tries to explain in a way she'll understand. What he doesn't know is Rey already guessed the truth. It was obvious even in high school, watching male sexbot interviews on a grainy iPod, silent under the covers. 

_We're wired to please. Selling us to hundreds of people in a lifetime is torture, but consigning us is just as bad-without someone to love we die. It's in your code._

Heart aching, Rey waits for him to finish. Enjoying how intelligent, how expressive he is.

"Since forever I wanted to belong to someone," he says. "Because freedom is too lonely. Twisted, I know.”

\---

Except it’s not. Rey’s familiar with the shame of wanting impossible things without fully knowing why. It comes naturally, knowing how to help. The execution is what's difficult when Ben's so eager to please, usually at the expense of what he really wants.

Sequestered in her studio during work hours, she searches for anything to enrich his time. Not a lot is instantly captivating. Mostly it’s recipes, projects to fix up the guest bedroom where he stays. 

Together they bake focaccia, Rey feeding him spoonfuls of manuka honey, letting him decide which to use. Pressing until embarrassed, he finally picks one. 

"It's okay to have opinions," she tries. "It won't make you less desirable." After that he's bolder, venturing to read out the directions for her, as Rey obeys.

Except when it's time to decorate the bread Ben shrinks against the counter, unsure.

“You don’t want to try?” she asks, taking his hand. 

It’s evident in the way she leads by touch. Talking animatedly about the design of a garden she saw, with pepper roses and yellow tomato buttercups. Rey's making the greatest effort to be kind, to draw Ben in.

So he plays along, trying desperately to please. Soon it becomes fun, immersive. Her praise is like home, promising a life without anxiety, where all ideas and mistakes are admissible.

When the bread's done they stand over the stove, admiring it for a long time.

“This is so beautiful, Ben, I can’t. We have to take a picture. For the longest time I couldn't even make rice.”

“How'd you learn?”

“On my own,” she says. “Right here.” Rey stops, picking at her apron. “I purposely chose a big kitchen, what possessed me I don't know. In college I lived on Starbucks."

"Coffee?" he asks, cracking up. "You didn't drink that nasty stuff."

"Oh, you better believe I did. Bowls of it. Troughs." 

As a matter of principle she shows him the magic of chai. It devolves until they're raiding the cupboards and pantry, opening cans and jars of whatever's unfamiliar. He eats for hours, enjoying her easy laughter. Listening to Rey’s descriptions of ordinary life, answering questions in turn about the functionality of cyborgs.

She's only ever curious, thoughtful of his limitations. Taking the mechanical hand and painstakingly teaching it to draw, guided by her grip on the pencil as she sketches waterfalls, birds in flight, bonfires and the August sun. All parts of how she grew up that sound far-fetched, surreal to him. 

"Someday I'll take you camping at World's End," she says, writing in practiced cursive the letters of his name, flourishing each into the roots of a flower. "It's a state park, but as a kid I thought it was another universe. I ran away there, thinking no one could find me."

"Did they?"

"Eventually. But they won't get us."

\---

It isn’t constructive, but it's her latest obsession. To watch hundreds of videos shot at restaurants, strip clubs and private house parties. The horror of it hooks Rey to the screen. How male sexbots attracted the most scorn, the worst acts of sadism by virtue of stigma, misinformation and groupthink. The compilations are the worst.

Bots from a sweatshop lined in pairs, ordered to lay naked in the dirty snow for failing to meet quotas. To stand on one foot in competition until one by one, they fainted on the asphalt. To lick toilets and the soles of Louboutin shoes, while above them stood humans high on power. 

_'Tricks'_ , someone commented years ago. _Everything’s a fuckin trick when u can't say no._

It’s a visceral reaction Rey can’t stifle, how in a panic she seeks Ben out. Tearing through the house to where he's quietly resting on his side, looking out the window at the morning light.

It's one of her deepest, most secret admirations of another person. How he sees the world with inherent wonder.

She approaches fast, giving his arms permission to touch by leaning close. Sometimes he's too shy. Today the extent of it is Ben patting her shoulder blades, shakily whispering in her neck. _It's okay, whatever's wrong, you're okay._

"Come hang with me?" she begs after, explaining the gist of why she's upset. They spend the rest of the afternoon on the couch, Rey reading and Ben simply watching the clouds, or varyingly her face.

\---

Ben’s drawn to poetry, to the escapism of anything abstracted. It's engaging, exhilarating to see him light up in recognition, finding words for his feelings.

He begs to be recited her favorite, by Maya Angelou. Really he asks to be indulged with it as a reward, at all hours of the day, stating that just to read it isn't the same:

_The caged bird sings, With a_ _fearful trill_

_Of things unknown, But longed for still_

While she reads from the collection he’s still, absorbed. Offering tea without being prompted, so Rey won't lose her voice. 

"You know Maya was a sex worker, too," she says, taking a sip of chai. He mixes it so scientifically and with such evident care. Like the cocoa her mother used to make, it tastes like home.

“I've never actually had sex," he says at last. “It wasn’t my selling point. The way I cry, people get violent instead.”

“What an evil curse. I don't care what the code says, you don't need a single one of us."

“Doesn't always feel that way. Obedience is rational when you don't know what to do, it feels calm. So does needing people. It's like a gift in disguise.”

“It wasn't given as a gift. Not to help you cope. Not so you were capable of emotion. It was to control you.”

“But maybe you could use it for good, as my owner.” It hurts how desperate Ben is to be heard, pushing through his reservations. “Give me rules?"

All Rey’s frustration snaps inside like a rush. It overcomes every stigma, every norm, dragging out the person she’s wanted to be since she was eleven, self-possessed and strong. Powerful enough to save the people she cares about, to form a relationship where she's not a victim, beholden or chronically misunderstood.

“Is that it?” she asks. “Just rules?"

\---

It’s hard to agree on specifics when Ben hardly knows who he is, much less what he likes. So Rey institutes ground rules, simple ways for Ben to act out what he needs to in order to be fulfilled. In a way they teach each other right from wrong, making things up or pulling them out of fantasy.

"Spoil me with attention, I guess. Give me a bath and wash my hair, or just listen. Offer your body when you’d like to be touched, no matter what I'm doing. Always ask first. Say, 'be with me?' and I’ll help you feel like you've earned it. There are no stupid questions."

"Will you punish me?"

"Yes, but only for you to enjoy it." Rey takes his hand. "I don't know if anyone's ever told you this, but in your soul you're human. And I will never, ever infringe on that. I don't want mindless obedience."

It complicates things that he can't disobey. So in the beginning the rules are relegated to brief, stolen moments of the day, with no deprivation, no orders. Rey's favorite is being carried from the bath, naked in Ben's arms. 

\---

“Where do you want me?” he asks, hanging back in the doorway. It's early morning on a snow day, something she misses from office life. Instead of going back to bed she invited Ben into the studio for company, lending him the wool socks she left to warm on the radiator.

It's too cold for Ben in the attic but he gravitates there, missing her while she works. Rey thinks of him plenty, lining the drawing board with sketches of how he kills time downstairs, sprawled out on the carpet, pouring over her mother's civil law books.

“Is this architecture?” he asks. "Building bridges?"

“Mechanical drafting. Mapping interchangeable machines. I don't do anything from scratch."

“Do you map bots?"

“Never," she says. "You're too complex, the machinery is brilliant."

“Then why do we die?” 

She's tried discussing nirvana with Ben, explaining the painless release of dissolution. How they'll probably just go into the dark, like anything broken, and that even supercomputers break down and decay, turning to dust. At the mill they weren't given a religion, or an option, or even an avenue to question. As a result he's obsessed by it.

“I don’t think any of us ever really die,” she tries. “Like reincarnation, but there's a theme over hundreds of years. To save the same people, to learn.”

“Do you think we were together before?” he asks. "In another life?"

"Of course." In the periphery of a blueprint Rey sketches one of a thousand possible universes. Ben as a knight, carrying a longsword in the rain. Rey's not in the picture but he doesn't have to know that. The beautiful blonde damsel is their mutual friend, a girl to finally appreciate him as he deserves.

“I like the metal armor on you," she says, showing him. Tapping his shoulder, tracing the inlaid details. Taking in his blush at the image of being kissed, surprised at how quickly he warms to the idea of it. "I always did."

\---

That night she shows him _The_ _Princess_ _Bride_ , powerless to explain why she so badly wants Ben to absorb its meaning. As a kid she latched on to fairytales, to the thought of happiness as an inevitability, lost to her parents in a stranger’s care. _Death can’t stop true love, all it can do is delay it for a while._

Asking others to read between the lines only ever ends in disappointment. So she cultivates no outward expectation. Except Ben’s tense in her lap, transfixed. Looking up repeatedly, searching Rey’s expression at all the best parts.

After she’s touched beyond reason, overwhelmed. Desperate not to forget. How his soft lips pressed against her wrist through the credits, saying _as you wish_.

\---

With practice it’s easier. Rey finds strength in giving direction, gradually coming to understand it’s enjoyable, even cathartic for Ben to push his physical limits. They don't speak about why it becomes sexual, other than that most of the times he seeks her out, it's with an erection.

At first Rey will only go so far as to edge him through his jeans, only ever using her words as restraint. Telling Ben _don’t move_ , or _don’t come_.

Only over time does it evolve into play with a set premise and conclusion, involving them in improvised stories that last for hours. As props they use fairy lights, Chanel lipstick, the nozzle of the bathtub and Rey's leggings.

"Be with me," he says at first. Graduating one day to tell her, "Tease me," as levelly as possible.

"Tease you, like jokes?"

"No, like when you pretend you're too busy. It helps it feel real."

"When I'm mean, that's authentic?" Ben shakes his head, silent. Drawing her down onto the yoga mat, bringing her into his confidence. 

"It's cathartic," he whispers, tracing the lace edge of her tank top. "After, it's like you put me back together." 

"Oh," she says, swallowing hard. "Okay. I like it a lot too. I'm just...shy?"

"Rey?"

"Yes Ben."

"May I quote you?"

"You may."

"It's all for us. Nobody else gets to judge what happens here."

\---

His devotion is like magic. Through it Rey uses fantasy as an endless source of frustration, teasing him with stories that have always lived inside, of all the different versions of who and what they are. Each successive night she grows bolder, more immersed.

-Pretend we’re the only people alive, and no one will ever find us. That I’ve enchanted you to be my slave and there’s no rescue. Win me over. Make me yours instead. 

-When you come, I feel it in my body no matter where I am. You’re far away and it’s the only comfort I have. Try to get yourself off for me. 

-What if we can read each other’s minds, but we’re enemies? I’m on the human side of the war and you’ve captured me, but I see into your soul and steal it. Fight back.

It's the happiest time of Rey's life, lost in their private world. It goes on forever.

\---


	2. Chapter 2

Knowing Ben, it’s easy to tell when he's overstimulated. Like anything mechanical his body undergoes a buildup of pressure, so intense it overtakes all reason.

Earlier he asked to try one of her cruelest fantasies. So she ordered him to sit against the wall, not to move while she stripped. Deliberately drawing out the process with complicated, satin-tie lingerie, multiple layers of leggings and the only heels she owns.

“Don’t cry,” Rey tells him desperately, kneeling close, fighting to stay in character. “I'll punish you hard.” By request she risks going too far, playing the meanest possible role. It’s on another level, how lost he is, staring up at her in awe.

“Hands on your ankles, legs wide. Like this.” Once he’s spread in position, Rey shows Ben what’s in her hand. Demonstrating how it vibrates on every setting, briefly touching it to the front of his jeans. Each time he’s more vocal, chasing her touch.

“Do you want to see me use it?” she asks, kneeling wide on the carpet. Toying that she'll try it, teasing the face and sounds she'll make.

“Please," he says. 

“On you or on me?” It’s a tough question, and really there’s no right answer.

“On you, please.”

“As you wish,” Rey says, moving close to throw both legs over his. Unable to pull her in his lap or move closer, Ben can only take. It's exactly how she always wants him, receptive to praise, paralyzed so he can't deflect or glance away. 

“Look at me.” He does, eyes wide. “You're mine. You chose this. I want you to enjoy it.” Rey sets the vibrator low, holding it over her nipples until they’re tender, sensitive to the touch. Letting him try how it feels through his shirt, ticklish and pleasant at once.

"See, it's good. I love that you're so giving, that you gave this up for me. Let me show you how much."

Taking Ben carefully from his jeans, Rey milks his cock for a bead of precum, rolling the liquid between her fingers like lotion. Using it to coat and pinch her nipples, to warm where they press against his chest. 

Between them he jolts, rocking into her hand, and Rey picks up the vibrator, lingering it between them. So close to making contact with his hard on, yet always drawn away. She keeps him trapped in her palm, making tight, wet strokes with her fingers, never letting him thrust.

“Come as soon as you can,” she says. "Don't ask." 

The noises Rey makes in response to the vibrator aren’t an exaggeration. Mostly it’s Ben’s reaction that turns her on, how his dick twitches and leaks with every moan. How he can't stop staring, when normally he's careful not to be caught. 

She gushes from coming so much, smearing it on his lips, feeding it to him from her fingers. With the wand it's effortless. It's the first time he sees Rey shake, falling apart each time. 

He's sweating so hard her hair sticks to his neck, foreheads pressed together.

“Right now," she asks, "do you almost wish you were a different toy?” Ben nods, head low. Gritting his teeth and rocking in place as he comes, spurting in his jeans. 

Rey watches long, long after he's done. There's nothing between them so he knows she's staring at his body, his deflated, sticky cock and all the shameful words. For a moment it burns until she reaches behind them, bringing a glass of water to his lips. 

"Relax," she says. "Drink." 

Dizzy, soaked in sweat, he drains what she offers, eager for the attention that follows. It's dreamy, how naked she braids his hair, feeds him bits of chocolate and bread. Massaging his cock with a palmful of warm lotion, fussing over how beautiful his hips are, how well he did. He never wants it to end.

\---

“You were so proud of these pants,” she says after, picking at his stained jeans. “Maybe you should keep wearing them?”

\---

Every time they look at each other it’s electric, for the rest of the afternoon. It gets more humiliating, more arousing for Ben each time, until Rey takes him aside after dinner, cock tenting against her side.

“Go run us a bath, I'll join you in a little bit.” They linger there until Ben carries her to his bed.

It’s the first time she stays in the guest room, cold on top of the covers. Frozen, listening to Ben sigh in his sleep, not wanting to miss any part. Not wanting to move for even one second, in case it startles him awake. 

Thinking of how when she came upstairs with dessert, he called her an angel.

\---

The next day Ben’s not in the right place to be treated harshly. It's one of the mornings he's slow to wake, shaky and untethered. So Rey lets him run the tub to the brim with body butter and lavender oil. It’s unreal, the fascination he shows for her human body.

She's fascinated by him too. Kneeling on the bathmat, naked under an oversized button-down. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, rubbing her feet and asking endless questions about physiology, the substance of why she’s aroused. He's been reading nonstop romance novels, imparting all sorts of laughable cliches.

“It’s hard to explain,” she says. “Being relaxed makes it easier to come.”

“Do you ever touch yourself?”

“All the time. When you’re asleep and the house is too quiet. On the couch during commercials, in the shower.”

“Teach me,” he says. “Please?” Weeks ago he mentioned being unable to masturbate, embarrassed or otherwise stunted. The frustration of it sounded unhealthy, too close to defeat. She wanted better for him.

So maybe it's pure wishful fantasy, how she reaches every spot with the sponge. Half the time she's still disturbed and disappointed by her sex drive. Yet she soaps the back of her neck and shoulders, between her toes. Aware of how her tits crest the water, legs shaking.

Putting on a show in a way she never has, so it's burned into him that there's no wrong place to touch, no wrong thing to feel.

On all fours, open legs dripping, Rey shows him how she plays alone. Circling her clit with two fingers, clenching and moaning. It’s the sweetest, most vulnerable game, denial by proxy. Feeling his breath on her wet skin, aching for it but still pulling away. 

When he starts to whimper, she can't take it anymore.

“Hands behind your back.” Using foam from the head of the bath, Rey takes his cock, stroking it in deep handfuls. Drenching the floor, hanging half out of the tub, nipples pressed against the porcelain. 

“Now touch me, it's okay.” Eyes closed, Ben strokes a line down her back, precise and attune. When she moans in return his dick jumps untouched. 

“See? You were made for this.” Rey moves tight against the edge of the bath, staring into his dark eyes, latching onto the loyalty, the attention there. "Not sex, _this_. Making us feel good."

"Us?"

“Your cock's so perfect.” Rey massages it tight against his belly, spreading the wet spot on his shirt. "All I need is to watch."

"May I?"

"Yes, but don’t use your hand.” At that Ben actually sobs, leaning into her shoulder. 

“What should I do?” he asks. “Please, help me.”

“Like this, watch. Just one finger.” It was never Rey’s intention to see him jerk off. Except now she knows he’ll try. In any stolen moment, as soon as she turns her head. Thinking about this. About _her_.

All it takes is a back and forth motion of her nail. Running over the head, dipping to tease the skin just under that’s raw, unbearably sensitive from the day before. 

As he comes he says her name. Just Rey, no honorific, no prelude. The tenderness of it sits between them in a telling silence. 

\---

After the protest she organized in college, after the exclusion of bots from campus and the riot, so many people knew her name. Never once was it a good thing. She yearns so much to share the heartbreaking anxiety of wondering if she'd be blacklisted, expelled or put in danger.

She wants to tell Ben none of it mattered for a single second, not after seeing the faces of a hundred fourths with no library, no dorm, and no future, stranded on a train platform in handcuffs.

"I never cared about being successful," she says instead. "I was just waiting to hear you say my name like that."

\---

After she turns on the bathtub heater, unbuttoning Ben’s shirt so he can get in. His shaking fingers brush her leg, painfully unsure.

“You were perfect,” Rey says, head on his shoulder. “Really, truly.” 

Rewards are always simple, tactile as a means of bonding. In his exhaustion Ben just wants to be touched. So Rey fills her empty wine glass, pouring it over his hair. Smoothing back the flyaways to kiss and tongue behind his ear.

Tracing the only good word, her favorite: _polite._

“Mark me, please?” he asks, half asleep in her arms. “So I can look later?”

They don’t kiss on the mouth. It’s something Rey’s just not ready to share with anyone, after so long secluded and separated from the world. But she gets close for Ben, sucking just hard enough to bruise. Eyes closed, lost to what they share, buried away from memory.

Reverting to a version of herself with no lost hope, no regrets. Standing on a burning podium surrounded by police, screaming _don't give up._

That night she asks him to sleep in her bed.

\---


	3. Chapter 3

Rey comes back from the bathroom to see Ben at the foot of the mattress, curled small. 

“No way, you’ll freeze,” she says. “Get under the covers.”

It’s hard for her to sustain contact, especially trying to fall asleep. This she explains as best she can, taking care that he's comfortable. Tucking him in the whole time she's talking, shoveling the covers under his big body until he looks safe, cocooned.

"I don’t know, it’s my damage. I feel smothered and need space. I'm so sorry. I'm working on it."

Except Ben isn’t the type to cuddle either. Even with repeated encouragement he keeps a reverent distance, preferring to hold hands, stroke her hair or play footsie. 

Rey loves the latter. Running her socked foot over the dents and whorls of his metal calf, asking, “What does that feel like?”

“Ticklish. Your skin is warm.” 

“Do you like it?” He nods, shy. Hiding in the pillow so only his hair shows, falling out of its French braid. Rey scoops some away, tracing his cheek with a finger. 

“I like everything,” he says. “It’s just new.”

“I’ve never slept with anyone either,” she tells him. It's a long overdue confession, one brought out only by time and trust. “New is scary.”

After that kind of revelation Rey expects to be interrupted, questioned and disturbed. Even just to check in. Lamp switched back on, blinding like an interrogation. Virtue giving way to the truth that she's frightened of other people, so much so it's impossible to get close. 

Except Ben’s unmoved. Kissing the space between her knuckles, breathing hot into her palm. Rey stays silent forever, soaking in the acceptance. What she gives him is pitiful in return.

It's the barest brush of her lips to his cheek, but one that Rey will keep to her death. Cherishing the tears he shed after, like she bestowed the most beautiful sacrifice. 

“I knew,” he says at last. “And I was always yours.” 

\---

The next day Ben makes breakfast. Over time he’s perfected a few staples, easy meals she learned during wartime that require almost nothing. Rey’s favorite is fried toast and orange slices.

“I like ornery machines,” she explains, showing him how to fix the ancient percolator. “But mostly it’s habit. Every morning for years I’ve done this.” 

She gestures through the window over the sink. “In the spring that’s a garden.”

Alone Ben daydreamed roses waiting to bloom under the snow, vegetables hanging in laden rows. At the bot mill they weren’t allowed to go outside, stand near exits or ask about the weather. 

Now he wanders out on the balcony every morning, unbearably cold but alive with the thrill of it. How Rey always encourages him to come and go as he wishes, even in the dead of night. 

\---

"Why do you garden?"

“Before she left my mom used to read _Frog and Toad_ a lot, trying to teach me patience.” Rey explains the story in vivid detail, reenacting every page. Describing how Toad is his own worst enemy, vacillating between shouting and doting, reading to the dark. Confusing criticism with praise, doing everything wrong. 

"He was just excited," Ben says. 

“That’s going to be you once we plant the crocuses. And I’ll say, those must be the most frightened seeds in the whole world. They need encouragement."

"Will you draw us doing that? Please?"

"Oh, Ben. Maybe." 

Often Rey explicates books, movies, buildings, and cities, knowing his favorite way to learn is through her eyes. But mostly she'll draw, spending long hours sketching her mother's face, her childhood playground or college dorm. He hoards the finished ones away, to a hiding place she's never discovered.

A few weeks ago Ben broke her heart by asking her to draw him into a picture from college. Taken on graduation night by Rey's adoptive mother, the shaky angle capturing all her reluctance.

In it Rey had climbed to the top of the old campus statue, the one of the fourth who cured HIV. After the war the university had it patched into an inert lump, too heavy and costly to move. She always hated the emptiness of it, the indecency. So Rey placed her mountain of leis over the formless head, wrapped her arms around the ruined body and held her fist high.

The next day the flowers were gone. 

Only she doesn't tell Ben that. It's a glimpse of what she was before, an activist, a fighter. He's never met that Rey. So she draws him at the top of the mountain, wearing all her honor, standing on the pedestal by her side. 

\---

They sit for hours at the kitchen table, dumping cinnamon sugar on their plates, mopping it up with oranges and talking. Drinking endless cups of tea, her feet propped in his lap, sketchbook open between them.

On request she brings out a framed picture of her mother, standing next to a cherry tree in bloom, arms spread wide. 

“Years before the war. You can tell she was a lot of fun. Not meant for this world but so in love with people.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Rey says. “That’s the worst part. But she loved bots. She thought you were going to take over and fix all our mistakes. So did I. We were sheltered, no one knew the future.” 

For so long Rey's been resigned to loss as a way of life. Except today it feels intolerable, claustrophobic. Too sad to take. Only now realizing what she missed in Ben. It hits all at once until she's sobbing, burying her face in his chest. 

"May I quote you?" he asks. 

"Yes, sweetheart."

“You’re only human. It’s normal to be upset.”

“Is that a good thing?” she asks, playing along. 

“I think so.” He smiles. “You told me it was, the first time I cried.” Rey remembers how those words came out. Surprising her when she felt empty, powerless to cope. 

_Only real things suffer._

“Thank you,” she says after. "I needed that." 

It snows for hours so Ben carries her to the guest room, where there's a view of the creek and woods beyond. Even ordinary intimacy is special, knowing he’s being so careful. Quickly learning that all Rey wants when she's bitter is to be held tight. 

They stay for hours like that, legs entwined, watching the snow fall over the trees. 

\---

Ben gets hard in his sleep, cock pressing against the front of his pajamas. This time Rey draws attention to it, enjoying the feel of it against her belly. It's usually the precursor to what they share, waking up like this.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “Go to the bed?” He does, getting in position. It's not something she speaks about but that he enjoys, having his legs spread, hands behind his back. Her heart skips a beat at how he presents so eagerly for her.

Pulling his pants down she traces the juncture of his metal hip, reading the indelible words there. Pausing with her fingers over every line, watching his face change. Some are neutral but others still sting.

“What does this one say?” It’s clear, sharply carved and easy to read. Still Ben looks speechless. 

“That I’m a virgin.” 

“No, it says you’ve never gotten a blowjob. That's different.” Rey sinks to the mattress. “Let me show you.” 

In slow motion, Rey mimics licking along the line of his cock, getting her tongue almost close enough to touch. She repeats the process and Ben whines, eyes closed.

“You’re not watching,” she teases. “This is important. I’ll have to do it again.” This time he’s riveted, exhaling hard through his nose. 

“See, it’s easy. And some women love it, as long as you’re not pushy.” She stops. “You wouldn’t be pushy, right?”

“I’d be good, I promise, _please_.” It comes out in a rush, startling them both. It takes everything in Rey not to laugh.

“Let me warm you up first.” Rey spits in her hand, working it over the sensitive tip of his cock, knowing he’s close just from proximity, from being shown something new. "Is that good?"

“Yes, please,” he asks again. It’s his tone Rey loves. Not demanding or entitled but enthusiastic, hopeful for whatever she chooses to give. It's how he treats her always, not just in this but everything. Like she will always be first.

“Okay, just one.”

She draws it out, giving his cock all her attention. Dragging her tongue from base to tip, swirling and sucking the head, the veins.

When she withdraws it ruins Ben, coming untouched. She holds the base of his dick in place, watching cum drip down his legs onto the bedspread. Fascinated by his endurance and the way his hips move, circling, pumping the air.

Anything more would've been too intense. They've had moments of blackout, times when she took it too far. Those she regrets the most, because he deserves good memories. Of all the privilege Rey's powerless to give, that at least is within her control. 

“So when do you want to try on me?” she asks, laughing when he scoops her up.

\---

Later Rey shows him the woods behind her house, stopping on the porch to help Ben tie his shoes. He looks goofy wearing so many layers, soft and young.

“Want to run?” she asks. He does. They race each other through the snow, crashing into branches, falling all over, immersed in the chase.

Looking over her shoulder it's like every childhood daydream, being pursued by a sweet, dark-haired stranger, following her to every sacred hiding place.

It doesn't matter that Rey moved here to be forgotten. Ben still found her. Heart racing, it's the only thought left in her head; he'll always find me, no matter where we are. 

Finally, out of breath, Rey points to a clearing on the hill. “It's just up there.”

A thin layer of ice glazes the snow, reflecting the heat from above like silver glass. Below, the windows of Rey's house already glow with the sunset.

In time it spreads, deepening the hills and creeks to gold, crystal and surreal. Then it's over, clouds turning to dark.

Ben's silent, wiping tears. So little used to the world, anything beautiful is like heaven to him.

“We have to head back,” she says at last. “But this is what I used to do every night. Before you.”

\---

At home they make a chaotic batch of stovetop popcorn, drink cocoa and watch reruns of _The Twilight Zone._ Rey strokes Ben’s hair in her lap, combing out the tangles from the wind. They play endless rounds of cards, Ben beating her at every new game.

In the dark she counts down from ten, kissing his cheek at the end. Inside she pictures fireworks, loud crowds cheering her on for the courage of such a simple, monumental thing, opening up. Earlier they agreed not to jinx the new year by over celebrating; she's already feeling an impossible amount of hope.

So when Rey says, "I want you," or maybe, "I love you," it's just because.

And of course he says it in return.

\---


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: breathplay

“You want me?” she asks again. 

Together they’ve taken over the guest room. Now the bed’s pushed aside, carpet blanketed by clothes. It was Rey’s suggestion, to clear the floor and try different positions. 

Explaining doesn’t help so she orders Ben to practice, rolling and hitching his cock against her leg. It’s not long before he looks down at her, lost for guidance.

“Like this for missionary,” she says. “Harder, you don't have to be gentle.”

She takes his waist in her grip, dragging sharp nails along his torso until he's hissing, back tense. “You want me?” she asks again.

“Yes, but-”

“Do you know what position I like best?” Rey flips their bodies, thighs tight. Grinding down on him until Ben thrusts back, muscles flexing.

“Don't move.” She spreads, languid, riding his stomach. Letting the tip of his cock bump against her ass, teasing it until he cries harsh, gutted sobs. “Now ask me what I want.”

“Anything."

“This,” she says. Dragging her cunt across his chest, Rey moves to sit on his face. Wet already, fingers trembling at his throat. “You under me.” 

Rationally she predicted it. How this was the fantasy he chose to approach her for earlier. As they sat cross-legged under the fairy lights, deciding what to do. 

_Position practice? I know there’s something you asked to learn. Tell me sweetheart, anything._

She tries hard to anticipate Ben, fully without error. Using the intimacy that comes from constant study, watching for every sigh and microcosm of doubt. It's important for her to know, to make sure he's enjoying it, because he truly has no recourse, no escape.

Even now she's paying attention. Listening to his moans, stifled underneath, inhaling her cunt hard. It's not out of desperation that he's panting. Ben's just excited, immersed in the novelty. 

“You can taste me,” she says. Using two fingers to spread, rolling on her ass so he’s compelled to watch. The single strip of tongue that carves between her legs. “Good? Then make me beg for you.”

It’s an order so Ben does his best, using every advantage of size and endurance. Lapping at her clit, nipping at her thighs with clumsy teeth. Sending every heady feeling of want down her spine, so inexperienced but attentive, hungry. Working every inch until Rey comes, dizzy with relief. 

After she immediately dismounts. Enjoying the afterglow as he waits, cock painfully full. 

“Want to come?” she asks. “Let me take care of you.”

“Please.” 

“Okay, pay attention," she says. "Tell me what this is.” It's grounding for them both. To repeat reality until it's solid underfoot. This was part of the plan all along, to try something unconventional, weird and special. A way to take what's unpleasant and overwrite it. 

“That's your belt.”

“Good,” she says. “I’m going to choke you, but not to hurt. It's not violent, it's not punishment. Just feel.” 

Rey uses it as a leash, pulling him taut. Sitting between his legs, rubbing Ben’s cock over her lips, her chest. Every time his hips surge Rey yanks tighter, rougher. Making it impossible to come until he falls into oblivion, almost blacking out. 

"Am I hurting you?" 

"No, it's good." She chokes him harder then, determined.

“Feel the pressure in your head?” she asks, relaxing her grip on the leather. “Now let go. Breathe.”

Ben does, drawing heavy lungfuls of air. Hips moving hard, gone in ecstasy. Watching Rey’s face as he spurts unexpectedly, cum dripping down her nipples. Lost to the longing look she gives, dark eyes brimming with pained tears. 

Bringing their bodies close Rey tries to explain, eventually falling silent. Instead caressing him until sensation returns, lingering long after. Letting him squeeze and paw at her neck, thinking the mystery away.

"Was that a malfunction?" he asks. Before when he was choked it was as retribution for something severe, never by the customers but the managers themselves. Some of the men were so harsh he'd need to be sick, lose his vision or have bruises in the shape of fingers. It was never hot; it never made him grateful to be owned. Now he is. "It didn't hurt this time."

“Because you're exquisite," she says finally. "It was on purpose. Let me show you again." 

\---

A week later they plant the crocuses. As a gift for Ben she bought ones that bloom in the snow, resilient to harsh weather. So the first flowers of spring are at home, visible through the kitchen window where she promised.

“Has to be deep,” she says, guiding his thumb to dip down into the soil. Teaching him to make space for the bulbs where it's warm. 

“They’re like onions,” he tells her. 

Time slows on Ben laughing, nuzzling into her neck. It’s the wrong moment but Rey’s overtaken, carried away.

Enough to steal a kiss, barely brushing their lips. Ben’s chin juts and he chases her, smiling hard, hands rooted in the dirt.

“Please,” he says, eyes wide. “Again.”

After that their lips move together, Rey’s fingers taking his neck and hair in fistfuls. She breathes deep, tonguing and licking at his teeth. Outside in the cold he tastes windblown, fresh and earthy. Like the chai they drink, nothing metallic or bitter.

“You kiss by the book,” she says at last. "My Ben."

Long ago she explained it, half drunk but sincerely-

_"As a kid I decided if I ever found true love, and only if, I'd say “you kiss by the book” from Romeo & Juliet. As a symbol of fairytale love, and moving on from just reading that stuff in novels."_

Ben can't stop kissing, elated to hear her words of confirmation. He seeks Rey's lips endlessly in return, freely giving his own whispered promises. Everything before feels distant, replaced by a better world. 

One where Rey never has to wonder, only experience that she is loved, in every sigh and moan, every breath. 

Trespass sweetly urged, she thinks, falling backwards in the snow.

\---

That night he goes to bed early. Barely taking her eyes off the screen, Rey gives a half-hearted goodnight, promising to join soon.

Not ten minutes later she walks into the bedroom. As expected, to the sight of Ben running his hands over his chest, pinching the head of his cock. Saying her name, _Rey, please._

Crawling on all fours across the mattress, in an instant she's at his side.

\---

“Come,” she says. “But not until I say.”

It was her plan to simulate riding, to rub his cock endlessly against her clit. Except for his impertinence, already getting on top.

“Feels good,” she says, deadly serious. “You lead.” Stretching out so her body’s open, inviting. Cresting his ass with her heels, digging in hard to bring them together. “Show me how you fuck.”

It’s shaky at first, inexperienced. Ben pokes her in the leg, missing and cursing. Eventually he finds a rhythm, a tangible way to rock against her that’s so achingly close. The back and forth pressure on her clit isn’t enough.

What works is watching his body, how it moves and contracts, every muscle, cord and fiber tense around her. 

“Look in my eyes,” she says. “Ben, kiss me.” As they touch her legs shake, jolting in his arms from overstimulation. It's then that he falls against her, the full weight of his body behind the thrust. 

Trapped against the head of his cock, her orgasm hits hard. When it's over Ben's staring down at her, arms trembling, mouth hanging open. Holding himself in position.

“Do I have permission to come," he asks, desperate. “Please?”

“No,” she says. “Hold out until you can’t. And stay there, don't relax.”

For a beat it's like before. Then Rey realizes what she's done, testing if he can ever disobey. It crashes into her all at once, that the angle's too stressful, too painful. It's not something he can just take like always.

She's about to know for sure.

Within the space of a minute his head tilts back, jaw going slack. She watches the telltale, beautiful rush of air from his lips. 

It’s torture, seeing Ben spill on her stomach, knowing he doesn't need this kind of sex anymore. That the mod is surmountable, not just by necessity but sheer force of will.

Through experience she expects the worst, bracing to move away, to dress quickly and never speak of it again, forever pushing this part of herself down. And she'll do it, if only for his sake.

“It’s okay,” she says. “If you don’t want to do this again." 

“Why?” he asks, winded. “Rey, I knew I was broken.” 

“The mod doesn't work?” she says. "Are you sure? But all those times-"

“That’s why I was replaced. Before when customers ordered me not to cry, I physically couldn’t. I just cracked one day. I didn't tell because I wanted to be good on my own for you. I didn’t want you to return me.”

Rey can’t hold the tears that turn into sobs, shaking her shoulders. Inconsolable until Ben takes her in his arms, naked under the quilt. 

“Look up,” he says. "That's infinite."

Above the bed is a galaxy of glow-in-the-dark stars Rey bought on a whim. Handing them to Ben, too embarrassed to admit she never had any. Only to see his delight in replicating the constellations in perfect form, all over the ceiling and walls.

When she first saw Rey said, _wow, that's infinite_ , in such a way it stuck, causing them both to tear up. Now whenever they're sad, they come here. As a reminder that there's a universe beyond oppression, in the midst of it and inside them.

“That’s us," Rey says, shifting on the mattress. ”That's how far I'd go for you."

"See, you know," he says. "It's not just you ordering me. I live for what we do. It's the only thing that helps."

She's slow to take his hand but it happens, part of the surrender that entails letting go. Accepting that there's no way to control how much she feels. Safe instead in the knowledge that Ben gives willingly, as a choice. Trusting him to take care of her, too.

\---

It’s a ritual to watch the sunset from their lookout. In another life Rey expected to die there surrounded by nature. Finally giving in, having lost a war bigger than the one outside. Cornered by the government or lost in isolation, everything squandered.

She remembers standing at the precipice, trying to outlast the prospect of an empty future. Sometimes as often as every night.

Now it’s a happy place. One where she curls against Ben, heart pounding from exertion. Kissing and sharing cocoa, making up stories about the history below. Overlooking the panorama of rivers and roads that lead to home. 

“I think I’m ready to be together,” she says. “Are you?”

\---


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tw: brief mentions of dissociation/dissociative behavior
> 
> *note: this fic started out as a really heavy, discarded portion of 4th/whole which I felt was just too dark, too depressing, and too niche. I rewrote that story into reclamation.

For years time blurred together until Rey was reduced to a bystander. Dissociating for hours or days at a time, wandering between rooms. Aimlessly staring at photographs or out the window at the barren road. 

Unable to summon anything other than numbness, apathy. Each second an ongoing, dark quiet into which nothing fit. 

Finally she’s able to plan again, to grow by breaking the future into tangible pieces: what to cook, what to draw, and how to care for Ben.

\---

“Put me in this,” he says, handing Rey her belt. “So I don’t hurt you.” 

“It doesn't hurt, Ben-”

“Please,” he persists. “What if I’m bad?” 

“Are you worried?” she asks. Taking his proffered wrists, clutching them together. Thinking hard, maybe blushing. “Or making a suggestion?”

“A suggestion,” he tries. 

“Well, then,” Rey says. “If you’re anticipating misbehavior, I'll consider restraint.” 

\---

In the end Rey improvises. Repurposing satin garter ribbon, craft bells, and a single steel chain. Anything heavier would be overkill. Rey tells him as much, watching his eyes go far away, soft. Landing dreamy kisses on her elbow, her palm as she tightens the chains.

Earlier they spoke about it, albeit briefly. Agreeing to preserve the element of surprise so he wouldn't know how or when. She's only able to last a week but it's worth every second. How he sits at the edge of his seat during dinner, straining to concentrate. To read from the book in his lap when all he sees is Rey. 

\---

“You’re spread," she says, letting him test the restraints. "Try me now. Be bad.”

“I can’t.” 

“I know,” she says. “Look at you.” Bells tinkling against his thigh, cock wrapped in black ribbon. A useless, breathtaking mess, straining hard to break free, to capture her back.

“Rey?” he asks. It's an aside, whispered shyly in her ear. “Can you see the words?” 

There’s no opportunity to hyperfocus in the candlelight, nothing for him to do but wonder. She considers what to say very carefully.

“No, Ben, not from here. Just you.” At that he squirms, body a tense, hot misery. 

“But if you could, would you read them?”

“Why?” Rey kneels, taking off her bra, her thong. Dipping low until she’s level with his chest, searching. Picking what’s most offensive, deliberately untrue. "Are you afraid of what you'd do?"

“No, Rey, I’ll be good-”

“Some of these words are provocative enough, I'd snap. _Defective whore._ Is that nice?”

“No, but...” Ben falls silent, shaking his head sharply. "It's only true."

“What about _u_ _gly._ ” That one she kisses, hitching her mouth over his nipple, tracing each letter. There are many variations. _Ugly face, ugly can_. Each one burns on her tongue.

He whimpers then, hard; the bells jostle. Rey continues, softer:

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes, I do.” Hearing that Rey moves fast, crowding his space. Rubbing her palms over his cock, humping his thigh. Anything to make contact. "I have to."

“Why, when I think you’re perfect?”

“I’m not, you’ll see. Just wait. I’m going to fuck up and you’ll hate me, you’ll make me leave-”

“Make you leave?” She’s breathing hard now, just as upset as Ben. That he would even think that. “I tied you up so you can't leave.” 

“You haven’t seen all of it,” he says. “All of me. _Bad attitude, v_ _iolent. Put this thing down before it hurts someone._ They chiseled those off.”

Rey’s pissed beyond compare. At justice for skipping out. At herself for failing to realize, what she sees as passion is viewed by others as a threat. 

He was sent to destroy her. So misunderstood, so pitifully underestimated they all thought he was dangerous. Ben’s just human, emotional.

Which is good. Rey knows a way through that, even if it takes all night. Putting up careful questions, showing him there's no reason to be afraid.

“What would I write," she asks then. "Can you guess?” Wetting a finger between her legs, Rey traces the eddies of his human skin. Over scars and stretch marks, patches of moles and soft freckles. Rewriting what he sees. “No idea?”

He shakes his head, lost. 

“What I drew,” she says, getting down close. The wet patches go cold with her breath. “Is that you belong to me.”

"Prove it," he says. The bells go as his hips surge, chasing her. Dick trapped in her warm thighs, immobile, taken. 

"I already have. Every day is for you."

“You’re obsessed with me,” he says to that, momentarily bold. It twists in Rey that this is it, the worst insult he’s capable of. “You want to fuck me.” 

It's gratifying how Ben refuses to flinch away. Shocked by his own nerve, but shameless, sure of her return. 

“Sit up,” she says. “Use the chains.” Trembling he lifts onto his ass, riveted to the pillow, eyes moving fast over her body.

Heart hammering, Rey crawls forward into his lap. Untying the ribbons, undoing his wrists. Wiping at his awed, endless tears. 

Saying tenderly, "See? You know.” 

\---

Overwhelmed, she lets him lead. Bringing her hips down onto his cock, eyes tight shut. Crashing their lips together only to pull away, breathing hard against his neck.

“Gently,” she begs, cupping his chin. “Does it hurt that I'm so tight?” 

“No,” he says, blinking fast. “You?” 

“Not anymore.” She demonstrates by using his shoulders to sit up, grinding down with all her weight. "Look at me." 

In her eyes is all the love he's been promised by obedience, squandered through the years unknown. It hits then how human value isn't material but soulful. That Rey cherishes him reasonless, simply for existing. 

\---

“Slap me,” he says in a rush. They haven't moved in minutes, not from each other's eyes, not from where their bodies fit on the mattress. “Please, or I’ll come.” Rey shakes her head, refusing. 

"It's okay,” she says, grabbing thick fistfuls of his hair, clawing at his neck. Absorbed by how he stares, thrusting deliberately, wildly. Watching her bounce. “Come in me, and I'll let you lick it out.” 

\---

It's unreal how sweet he looks, spilling hot in her belly, head falling back. Moving in circles with his hips until he collapses back onto the bed, legs shaking. How he gets right back up to kneel on the floor. Waiting for Rey to crawl forward, expectant, eyes shining.

"Soon," she says. "Come hold me?"

After Ben falls asleep inside her, asking carefully, hesitantly, _be with me?_ though his erection's gone, cock lying spent on his hip. She curls against his chest, anticipating so many questions. Instead getting slowly, deeply kissed.

Right up until she wakes, with no memory of ever stopping.

\---

As the days grow longer, something shifts in Ben. Miserable alone, he invites himself permanently into the studio, sitting on the floor by the radiator. Reading or doing crosswords, fetching reference sheets or tea.

Rey responds in kind, setting up a makeshift workstation. Exerting no pressure, imposing no structure. Letting Ben come of his own accord day by day. Patiently, methodically teaching him to sketch.

He catches on quick, leaning into the challenge. Tentatively Rey asks around, not daring to hope. _Is there anywhere for a bot to take life drawing?_

\---

Months later he comes back from class red-faced, biting back tears. Throwing a packet down on the coffee table, shoulders tense.

Gingerly Rey picks it up, expecting a failing grade, a nasty hate letter, anything other than her photocopied face. Passed out on the concrete, tear gassed. Covered by a _slavery and freedom cannot exist together_ banner. 

“I told you, I broke my nose sophomore year. Falling off a podium-”

“Rey Nobody." Ben’s trembling, pacing in an awkward circle. “You're the anon who drew the pamphlets, _Stronger Than They Know._ About the couples."

He recites part of the article to her by heart. Ben must’ve read it over and over the whole train ride, the whole class, finding it stuffed under the seat where people still smuggle copies.

“I’m your punishment,” he says at last. “Because you thought we were strong, they gave you me.”

“I broke that day on campus. I cried every day for years. I was still brave; _you are brave.”_

She moves to stand, to explain, but Ben’s already gone. Taking off at a sprint down the hall, tearing his coat from the hook.

\---

She finds him next to the creek, lying down in the grass. Staring at the sky through the trees, fractiles of light flitting across his cheekbones, his lips. 

After a while he turns to her, smiling through watery eyes. Rey’s chest wobbles the more she stares, trying to remember why they have secrets.

“Mom told me, never harp on taking the fall. It’s not a real sacrifice if you have to constantly remind people. I didn’t want you to feel like this.”

“You know, I looked at your pictures. We weren’t supposed to, they beat us, burned the copies. But we always found more. It was the first art I ever saw.”

“Did you-” Rey breathes deep. “Do you have a favorite?”

“The fourth and his wife in Arizona, after the second collapse. Were they real?”

“Still are. All the couples I drew from polaroids.”

“Really?”

“Except us.” 

Rey unfolds the paper in her pocket, a copy of her first pamphlet since nineteen. Started the week after Ben arrived, trapped heartsick behind her desk.

In it he’s wearing mill blacks, staring into a mirror. Eyes empty, mouth twisted. Broken and bruised as he appeared to her, messy with insults and the scrape of other people's nails. 

Through the reflection is his future. The version of Ben who wears reading glasses to bed. Who parts his hair in braids and owns sixteen pairs of jeans. Standing tall next to Rey. 

“You saw us, back then?"

“Since we met,” she says. “I wasn't sure, but I hoped.”

\---

That summer they camp at World’s End, pretending to be lost. Rey laughs until she hiccups at the sight of Ben, disheveled, naked, gulping his tea in the damp morning. So excited he wanders the forest instead of sleeping, waking her with ecstatic drawings of deer, of birds in flight. 

At night they tell each other stories about the past, full of color and rage. Flashlights illuminating memories of burnt black sunrises, mortar fire, loneliness and the cold.

Rey never tires of the ending. How he smiles, saying _and then there was you._

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> references:
> 
> "slavery & freedom cannot exist together" - Ernestine Rose  
> Frog & Toad  
> Caged Bird by Maya Angelou  
> The Princess Bride  
> The Twilight Zone  
> "trespass sweetly urged" & "you kiss by the book" Act 1, Scene 5 Romeo & Juliet


End file.
